


This Close

by Try2CatchMe



Series: Sanctuary 'verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 01:09:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Try2CatchMe/pseuds/Try2CatchMe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Going through Hell with a vessel was, Samandriel would imagine, much, much harder than it would be without."</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Close

**Author's Note:**

> Based off this post (http://cloudwatchingangels.tumblr.com/post/35811553630/guys) on my Tumblr.

Going through Hell with a vessel was, Samandriel would imagine, much, much harder than it would be without. But he would not leave his vessel. Alfie had been beyond accommodating when Samandriel had heard of the auction for the tablet and desperately needed a vessel to attend. He would not reward such blind faith by leaving the boy to rot in Perdition.

Escaping Crowley had taken time. So very, very much time. The angel blade he gripped tightly was slippery with his blood and that of the demons he'd had to fight for his freedom. He was still far from free, though, he knew that. He was terrified that any moment he'd hear the howl of approaching hellhounds and be ripped to shreds, his attempts to protect his vessel nothing but a memory.

He was crawling through the belly of Hell, the places demons did not dare to tread because the fury of warring archangels' Grace would burn them alive.

To an angel, though, this was not a problem, not even close. Indeed, the presence of _any_ Grace, even as twisted as Lucifer's or as furious as Michael's was a welcome relief. His own Grace was tattered and shredded, thanks to prolonged torture at the hands of a weapon that belonged to one of his fallen brothers and being surrounded by another's Grace acted as a sort of balm.

He had no plan, not truly. Perhaps he could recover here and make an attempt at escape from this realm, it seemed a viable option.

Then he stumbled upon the Cage.

His brothers were glorious, even engaged in such hateful combat. The first two of all the angels, they shone the brightest of all.

So engaged was he in watching that he almost missed that the two were not alone in the Cage.

The Cage itself was not a physical construct, but it tended to manifest itself that way when human eyes looked upon it. So, to Alfie's eyes, it looked like bone and iron and bright, bright light formed into Enochian sigils. It was a large prison and still too small to contain warring archangels.

Two warring archangels and, to Samandriel's shock and horror, a soul.

More specifically, a soul that was still trapped inside a human body, a physical body. How was that in the Cage?

Careful not to be spotted, Samandriel edged his way toward the human. His body was unrecognizable, torn to shreds after centuries of Hell time. But the soul... the soul he knew of.

Adam Milligan, the vessel Michael took when it became apparent Dean Winchester would never say yes to him. How his soul had not been torn to shreds yet was beyond Samandriel though, when he looked closely, he could see a tendril of Michael's Grace reaching out toward the boy, sustaining him. Samandriel was hard pressed to say whether this was a blessing or a curse, keeping Adam's soul from disintegrating, but he could also not fault his brother for trying to save the human who had granted him use of his form. Even still he was trying his best to shield Alfie from their situation.

Before he truly knew what he was doing, he'd knelt by the bars nearest Adam's huddled form. His wings were nearly healed, now. From here, he could fly upwards, it was not far from the Cage to where it had opened on Earth. He could escape. But one thing he knew was that he would not allow himself to leave this human, this innocent human who'd been dragged kicking and screaming into Heaven's mess, in Hell.

It would be hard, dragging him out. But he reminded himself that Castiel, his friend, had dived into the pit and fought through legions of demons to pull out the Righteous Man. All Samandriel had to do was keep the tattered soul together and fly up.

He reached through the bars and seized the vessel's forearm. He pulled.

The body and soul were trying to separate, as though they no longer remembered how to function as one. So Samandriel used his Grace, just a touch, to hold them together as he dragged the human out through bars that would never release the angel they were meant to contain, but were more than wide enough to let out a single man.

Just that touch of Grace was enough, though.

Samandriel barely managed to throw himself back, clutching the limp body to himself, before Lucifer threw himself against the bars. Furious, bright, and snarling, he could burn through such a lesser angel as Samandriel without even touching him.

But then Michael forced himself between them, driving his brother back and Samandriel did not stop to question. He used his grip on Adam to draw the human's arm over his vessel's shoulders and wrap an arm around his side after tucking away the blade he still held.

Then he unfurled his wings and flew.

Crowley had spent a long, long time on Samandriel's wings. It was no wonder, as they were a symbol of angelic power and extremely, extremely sensitive to pain. They still cried out as he flew and he'd already healed a large percentage of the damage. Still, he climbed. Through blackness and fire and soot and the echoing cries of the damned, he flew until he felt his wings would give out.

It was a shock, when he broke through to Earth.

Such a shock, in fact, that he momentarily forgot to fly.

He fell only feet before hitting grass, glorious, cool, green grass. He inhaled the smell of damp Earth and felt a bone-deep relief.

Carefully, he levered himself up to check on the human.

Adam lay next to him, unconscious for the foreseeable future, surprisingly whole. Samandriel frowned and lifted a shaky hand, still sticky with blood, and placed it on the vessel's forehead.

Echoes of Michael's Grace traveled through him. A parting gift to his vessel, perhaps, a healing.

But that didn't matter now. Samandriel's Grace was depleted, his vessel weak and still healing, yet he had succeeded. He had raised his very own Righteous Man.

He flopped down again, allowing the cool night breeze to blow across his face. This graveyard was still, quiet. So he used the last of the Grace he still clung to to whisper across the cosmos before falling into the human blackness of sleep.

_Adam Milligan is saved... Adam Milligan is saved..._


End file.
